Page 40 of His Property

I woke to a strange sound, my awareness muddled such that I couldn’t tell if I was awake or dreaming. I was curled up on my bed, my blankets twisted about my legs. The light outside had gone almost full dark, the bedroom shrouded in deep shadow. I was much too hot, a symptom of probably tunneling my head under the covers. It was something I sometimes did in my slumber—and which never failed to overheat me, often giving me disturbing nightmares in the process.

It wasn’t until moving into Ellis’ house—and lying in the sumptuous guest room bed that practically seduced me to sleep each night—that I realized just how very badly I’d been sleeping in my car. Yes, my muscles were always sore, and I was perpetually fatigued, but it was amazing what the human body could accustom itself to, given no other choice in the matter.

Now, finally rested for the first time in many months, I’d remembered what it was like to get truly deep sleep. And it was fuckingglorious.

I rolled over onto my back, stretching. “Ow…”

My ass was sore. Really sore.

Then I remembered what had happened earlier in the day, and I clapped my hand to my mouth, finally snapping fully awake.

At that precise moment, the door to my bedroom opened, warm yellow light spilling across the floor in a long, angular column.

Someone stood in the doorway, partially blocking the light, and my stomach dropped ever so slightly.

It washim.

“Hello?”

He said nothing, instead stepping inside, advancing slowly toward my bed, his face entirely shadowed, obscured by the bright light from the hallway beyond.

“Will you… turn on a light at least?”

“Be quiet, Lola.”

I almost swallowed my tongue. But my nipples had a quite different reaction, tightening, tingling.

Then he was standing at the foot of my bed, and I could finally make out his visage at least a little bit. He was stone-faced, but his eyes were brilliant, seeming to almost glow in the low light. “Are you okay? You slept for hours.”

I relaxed ever so slightly, relieved he didn’t seem angry anymore. Why did it matter so much to me all of a sudden that I was being pleasing to him?

Why do you think, slut?

Trying to slide off the bed, I shifted my weight to my right side, but his hand wrapped about my ankle, stopping me.

“W-what are you doing, Mr. Winters?”

“I want you to stay where you are.” He took a breath. “Spread your legs.”

“W-what?”

“Do it.” His voice had the slightest of edges now.

“Why?” I didn’t really know why I asked it. I wasn’t stupid. I knew what he wanted. That knowledge wasn’t particularly unsettling either, and the sudden heat between my thighs heralded something that troubled me far more.

My body’s intense reaction to what it was he might have intended for me in the next few seconds was a shock to me.

“You know why.” He drew my leg slowly away from its twin. “Now is the time to decide. I’m going to fuck you, Lola Grant. There’s no getting around that now. I’m going to fuck you very hard, even if it hurts you. And I’m going to enjoy it whether it hurts you or not. You’re not leaving this room tonight until my cock is buried in your tight little cunt just as deep as I can ram it. Unless you call this whole thing off.” He clamped my ankle tighter, leaning slightly over the bed. “Last chance.”

Oh, holy shit.

For seconds, maybe a whole minute, I laid there, stunned, and so aroused I could hardly think straight.

“I… want to stay,” I finally said, my heart in my throat. I wanted this. Isowanted this, and yet, I was scared shitless too. I’d never been with a man even a fraction as intimidating, as implacable, as stern as Mr. Winters.

And it seemed I’d been most definitely been missing out.

The slightest hint of a smile curved his lips, then it was gone. He rose back to his full height. “Spread your legs as far as you can. Until it hurts. I want you to show me your cunt.”

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